Not Holly’s greatest parenting moment to lay the blame on the little brother, but Logan’s age-appropriate aversion to showers had been a source of great amusement to all of them.
Congratulations. Eye-roll emoji.
Your father’s flight was canceled, Holly added.
I wish I had a good excuse too, wrote Ava.
It’s not an excuse, scolded Holly.
Whatever. If he doesn’t have to be there, I don’t see why I have to.
We’ll see you in five minutes, wrote Holly, telling herself not to engage further.
The parking lot was full, something her dad verified by slowly rolling down every row before he succumbed to reality and parked on the street. As they walked a few hundred extra yards, there were enough other stragglers that Holly was reasonably sure they wouldn’t miss the curtain, but much less confident about finding seats. She didn’t want to have to stand in the back, if only to avoid hearing her parents’ postshow complaints about aching legs and backs.
Unexpectedly, Ava saved the day.
Up front, she texted as the four of them entered the crowded auditorium.
Her disgruntled teenage daughter had had the gumption to save four seats, third-row center, no doubt having to defend them against the predatory horde of camera-toting parents.
“Thank you,” whispered Holly as she squeezed past Ava, resisting the urge to plant a big kiss on the top of her head.
Taking her seat at the end of the group, she realized with surprise she was seated next to Cynthia, who, Holly suddenly recalled, also had a son Paige’s age.
“How’s Maeve?” she asked, to be polite.
“Home with ginger ale and her iPad,” Cynthia said.
Her husband sat on the other side, scrolling intently on his phone. Holly couldn’t remember his name, because he rarely brought the kids, but his presence felt like a rebuke.
“Is Jack still in LA?” asked Cynthia.
“Who knows?” Holly murmured, ignoring the surprised look on Cynthia’s face and opening her program. As she pretended to read it, she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around.
Brian. Smiling warmly.
“I didn’t see you,” she said.
“I just sat down. Easier to find a seat when you just need one.”
“I guess I forgot your girls are in the show.”
“Tech crew. Sound and lighting.” He laughed uncomfortably, noting her cold demeanor. “I’ll be spending the next two hours thinking of ways to compliment them on their work.”
Holly didn’t ask where his wife was. She knew the various answers by heart. On the road. At the office. Just couldn’t get away. Putting in a ton of hours. His admission over drinks had been jarring, but she was definitely sympathetic to his plight. She felt badly about shutting him down so harshly, but she’d been flustered.
“Looks like we’re about to get started,” he said as the houselights started to go down.
His hand was on the back of her seat. Thankfully, her parents were fully absorbed in trying to remember how to silence their cell phones and didn’t notice.
She looked into his eyes, which she’d always thought were blue, and realized they were actually green. “We’ll see.”
Chapter Ten
LARK
People will have questions, so own your story and keep it straight.
—“How I Lied about My Name and Discovered My Truth,” a TED Talk by Jon M. Wright
Lark was having trouble breathing. Her arms were quivering. Her thigh and stomach muscles burned. Below her, Trip continued thrusting, his hands on her hips, holding her in place and making sure they stayed in rhythm. His eyes were locked on hers. She’d lost track of how long they’d been going as one song on her playlist bled into the next. She was so close . . .
God, it was good.
She wasn’t inexperienced but had never experienced anything quite like this.
His handsome face . . .
Suddenly, she was almost there.
He could tell. “Yeah?” he asked simply.
She nodded, closing her eyes briefly to focus on the feeling, to make sure it didn’t slip away. When she opened them, he was still looking at her. Waiting for her to finish so he could, too.
The best part lasted longer than she could have imagined.
After they both used the bathroom and had a drink of water, Lark lay back, listening to her music in his hotel room with an idle thought that the mattress and sheets were better quality than anything she’d ever owned—but probably not as good as what Trip had at home. Which he’d said was a neglected condo in a downtown Chicago high-rise.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to her, texting or emailing. His phone breaks were frequent. Business, he said. Always business.
She often felt like she had to compete with his phone for his full attention.
“I want to go to your place sometime,” she told him. “Just for a weekend or something.”
He didn’t answer right away. Then, after he finished tapping out his message, he locked his phone and put it facedown on the nightstand. He flopped back on the bed.
“No, you don’t,” he said, smiling.
“I just said I did.”
“I’ve never had anybody visit me there.”
“You mean, none of your girlfriends?”
“I mean nobody, ever,” he said, lightly running his thumb over her hip and down the outside of her thigh. “After my divorce, I just rented the first place I found. It’s nice. Great view. But I never decorated—I haven’t even had a friend over for a beer to watch a football game. Frankly, the place depresses me.”
Lark saw two red handprints on his biceps where she’d gripped him tightly when she came. She wondered if he’d noticed when he was in the bathroom.
“Why don’t you just pay someone to decorate?” she asked.
He looked thoughtful. “I’m not sure, honestly. At first I thought I was just going to be there for a year or so, kind of a transitional phase. But the transition somehow became the new norm. Permanent impermanence.”
“It’s starting to feel a little weird,” Lark confessed.
Trip frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, it feels like you only exist in my life—I don’t exist in yours. You’ve been here three
